Laughter and Tears
by Myrime
Summary: "We could run away." Both of them know they can't. But with hope being in short supply these days, James decides to humour her. "Where to?" - James/Lily and being fed up with hiding


Laughter and Tears

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><p>"<em>There is a magic to intimacy, a world built of sighs and skin that is thicker than brick, stronger than iron. There is only you and him, so impossibly close that nothing can come in between. Not the enemy, not your allies. In this safe haven, in this hallowed place and time, I could even ask the questions whose answers I feared.<em>"  
>(The Storyteller - Jodie Picoult)<p>

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><p>„James," her voice startles him, makes his head snap up from the documents he was reading, fingers clenched around his wand. He relaxes only gradually when he sees Lily standing in the doorway to his study.<p>

Her green eyes are wide and dark, her body so thin that her white nightgown makes her look like a ghost. And her hair, once vibrant and fiery, reminds him of dried blood.

Harry sleeps in her arms and she is holding onto him like he is her only lifeline. Maybe he is. They have, after all, not many things left.

James gets up, wand still in hand, for he really doesn't go anywhere without it these days, not even at home.

"Why aren't you in bed?" he asks softly before taking his son from her and kissing her brow.

"I was thinking," she frowns, and that is a sign that makes anger roar inside him.

She is twenty years old. She shouldn't be up all night because their worries render her unable to sleep. She shouldn't have nightmares when she does. She should be out in the world, making up grand plans, travel, laugh – do _something_ – instead of being locked away in a house with only him and the occasional Order member as company. She should be living, not wondering when Death will finally come to claim them.

Then again, so should he.

A bitter smile flickers over his lips as he thinks about how naïve he had been – after leaving Hogwarts, after being accepted into Auror training, even after the Order missions started to go wrong.

He doesn't feel like twenty anymore. Sometimes, after particularly bad news, when even Albus can't muster the strength to smile and that damned twinkle in his eyes is missing and he looks every single one of his years, James thinks that is exactly how old they are. Old like lost hope and world-weariness and losing.

Taking Lily's hand he leads her over to the leather armchair next to the fire and spreads a blanket over her.

She looks like a child, small and frail, afraid of the monsters that aren't hiding under their bed, after all, but watch them through the windows and try to knock down their door. Once, she would have laughed at them, showed them that she isn't one to be defeated. But now, it seems, they have already succeeded.

For a while they sit in silence and that almost makes him laugh, because, before, silence has never been a part of his life. It was never needed or wanted. It never held power over him. But this world of theirs has long since ceased to be worth finding words for.

"We could run away," Lily speaks up after an eternity, voice small but her eyes are filled with something distantly resembling her former fire. For the duration of a heartbeat they are trained on him, intense, provoking, then they trail down to their child in his arms.

There are a thousand things to say to that. _We can't. They will find us. We are needed._

Instead, he decides to humour her. "Where to?"

"Italy," she replies promptly. "To see the Old Masters. To walk over every bridge in Venice. Or Brazil. Getting lost in the endless rainforest."

Almost forgotten excitement sparks and James grins despite himself. "Africa," he supplies. "Standing at the end of the world at the Cape of Good Hope."

"Spain. To take the Road to Santiago."

"Antarctica. To see the northern lights."

"Tibet. To spend a month in a monastery – or not. You would go mad." She starts laughing then, a real, heart-felt laugh. And it is so easy for him to join in, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his mind reminding him of how he is going mad even here, at home.

They laugh, long and loud, waking up Harry, who doesn't start crying about his interrupted sleep, but smiles and gurgles at his parents' antics.

For a moment everything is as it should be: They are young and in love and have the family they dreamed of. James wishes they would never have to return to reality.

In an attempt to keep up the nearly light atmosphere for just a couple minutes longer, he starts, wearing a lop-sided grin: "Do you remember –"

But that is the moment his mirror goes off and he curses his almost-brother for his miserable timing.

"James?" Sirius calls and it is obvious that something is wrong.

He closes his eyes, thinking that if he only tried hard enough, everything would look brighter when he opens them again. This new problem would be something trivial, like _I-don't-know-what-to-wear-for-my-date-with-that-blonde-chic_, not _another-battle-lost_. Damn, he can't even do anything. Nothing but listen and worry and spin nonsensical lies about some better tomorrow all of them know won't come.

"Where are you? James?" it comes again, more frantically sounding.

Lily sighs, all sings of their brief banter gone again. She gets up and takes up Harry, who is the only one still smiling. "I'll leave you to it," she mumbles and, with a short kiss, she is gone.

Just as Sirius asks for the third time, James is back behind his desk and one glance at his best friend's face tells him that this is, indeed, bad news.

"I'm here, mate," he says, despite wanting to hide away in some dark corner and press his hands over his eyes and ears to escape this new blow.

"What took you so long?" There are dark bags under Sirius' eyes and a deep red scratch down his left cheek.

"Lily."

"Damn, is something wrong?" It warms James' heart that, somehow, Sirius has the strength left to worry about them, even though they are in relative safety while, out there, their world is falling apart.

He shakes his head slightly, not really sure himself what kind of answer that is supposed to be. But Sirius understands.

"Then maybe you shouldn't tell her about this."

James' throat constricts painfully. "Who?" he manages to croak, while a voice echoes in his mind '_nonononotagainnotanotherone_'.

As he sees Sirius' hands tremble he fervently hopes it is not Marlene, for that will surely kill his friend. Then he is disgusted of himself, because it is wrong and horrible and painful no matter who it is.

"Dorcas," Sirius breathes, running his shaking fingers over his face, only to flinch when he touches the cut. "They went after her and we were too late." He grabs for a battle of firewhiskey and doesn't bother with a glass. "_He_ was there."

James doesn't need to ask who '_he_' is. It only ever means Voldemort or Regulus. And even after everything, he doesn't speak of his brother with that kind of hate and disgust.

"You fought _him_?" James' heartbeat speeds up as he leans forward worrying, trying to detect if there are any wounds other than the obvious hole another loss has ripped into their hearts.

"Nah, the bastard left as soon as the deed was done. We captured two of his goons. Fabian killed another one. All low-ranked." The last part is added in a bitter tone. Three Death Eaters for one of theirs. Dorcas…

"How is Fabian?" James asks despite already knowing the answer.

"Out of his mind. Gideon had to force a Calming Draught down his throat to keep him from storming off and getting himself killed." Taking another swallow of whiskey, Sirius shrugs. "I had half a mind to go with him."

Ice spreads in James' veins while some small part of him agrees full-heartedly. "Shall I come over?" he asks, knowing he can't. He is _in hiding_ after all. And he can't leave his wife and son alone. That doesn't keep him from wishing he could just go and get drunk with his best friend and try to get revenge – or just do fucking anything at all instead of staying put in this damned house waiting for Death to come right through the front door.

"I wish you could," Sirius mirrors his thoughts.

"Got to Marls," he then urges. "Or to Remus, or Pete. Don't be alone."

"They've already got their prize tonight. No need to come after me, too." Chuckling bitterly, Sirius' grip on the bottle tightens. "Not that it matters. He would just bring enough of his boot lickers that we wouldn't even have a chance were it all of us together."

"That's not true," James exclaims despite being not convinced himself. "That's why he's singling us out. They don't stand a chance in a fair battle." Then, failing at finding another argument, he adds: "And you know I didn't mean it that way. Got to Marlene. Get drunk with her or shag or – do anything. Just don't sit there alone and blame yourself for something you couldn't have prevented."

He's getting close to begging at the end, but he doesn't care because he is just so angry with being confined to this house, unable to be there for his friends when they need him most.

What kind of loyalty is that?

"Maybe I will, " and that's the best he will get.

It isn't much later that James slowly makes his way up the stairs towards their bedroom, only to hesitate at the door. His mind is in utter chaos. Pain and loss and guilt tumbling over hate and anger and helplessness.

He doesn't want to tell Lily. But that is ridiculous. She probably knows already.

"Who?" she asks as soon as he steps in, mirroring his earlier question in a most macabre way.

Always expecting the worst these days. And fate just loves to prove them right.

Swallowing audibly, he answers: "Dorcas."

Lily clenches her eyes shut and it's so obvious how this is ripping her apart. He climbs into bed right next to her, offering up his arms, painfully aware of how insufficient this – he – is to console her.

Still, she comes closer, clings to him, buries her face into his chest as she begins to sob bitterly. He holds her, not ashamed of his tears mixing with hers. In fact, he is more glad then ever that they can share this: laughter and tears.

All of this would be so much harder without her.

When Harry starts crying, Lily flinches violently. "Merlin, did I wake him?" she whispers, guilt written plainly over her blotched face.

James shakes his head as he untangles their limbs to get their son. "No," he hums soothingly. "He just knows his Mummy needs him."

It is only when he holds that wondrous bundle of warm flesh in his arms, that he realizes that his despair is misplaced. Their world might be going to hell and he might be able to feel much more useful out there, standing in the frontline, but it is here, right in his home, that he is needed. Both of them are.

Walking back over to the bed, he lies Harry between Lily and himself, and when he takes her hand, he knows that she understands as well.

They've got a child to protect. Not because he might be some prophesized saviour, but because _he is their son_.

"We'll get through this," James whispers. Lily smiles at him weakly and he repeats it, more confident this time. "We'll get through this. In the end, we'll be fine."

They kiss and Harry gurgles happily.

Right there, in the safe darkness of their home, it really seems possible.

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><p>I wanted to try and make this one fluff ... but then Sirius had to botch it all up. So, blame him ;-)<p>

Thanks for reading. And a review would really make my day!


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